Chapter Nineteen
"Sam."
I sit on the edge of the
bed, trying to coax him awake. Sam's midnight blues lazily blink
open to find me leaning over him, my hair hanging around my face
like a curtain. He is beautiful when he sleeps. His lashes—too long
for a guy, especially one with his rugged features—fan out over his
cheeks, accentuating his sculpted bone structure. He's almost
angelic, and I'd rather sit here on the bed and watch him sleep
than disturb him. For a moment I forget why I even have to wake
him.
He brings his hand up and
threads his fingers through the hair at my nape pulling me down for
a long, slow kiss.
"Mmm," he
moans.
God, he tastes good, even
just waking up.
I pull away laughing and
he grins up at me. I suspect that in this moment he may have
forgotten where we are, why we're here. My smile turns regretful
because I know he's about to remember.
"I let you sleep as long as
I could. We gotta get going," I say breathily, inexorably affected
by his kiss, and a glance at the sheet bunched at his waist tells
me I'm not alone.
I see the moment he
realizes what we have to do today. He jumps up, suddenly anxious,
and it's so unlike him that it gives me pause.
He turns and looks me
over, as if to check for signs that I'm okay.
"Sam?"
He sighs, almost sounding
relieved as he seems to assure himself that I am, in fact, holding
it together. His behavior makes me wonder if he had a nightmare,
and the thought makes my chest ache.
He leans down to plant a
gentle kiss to my temple, and makes his way into the bathroom
without a word.
At a quarter of eight Sam
and I both receive a text from my mother.
Court delayed until after
lunch. I'm at the Prosecutor's office. Everything is okay, just
meet me at the courthouse at 1PM
I swallow anxiously,
looking to Sam as if he might have the answers, but he looks just
as puzzled as I am and even more worried.
All I know is this can't
be good. I'm supposed to be testifying in a little over an hour and
now I don't know what's happening.
Sam picks up his phone,
looking nervous. "My phone needs to charge, Ror, can I borrow
yours?"
"I just wanna call Chip
first, he's supposed to meet us at court."
Sam nods slowly, almost
reluctantly. He's not himself, and his reaction to this new
development is feeding my anxiety, so I step out on the balcony to
make my call, just wanting to give him some time to compose
himself.
Chip doesn't answer so I
text him instead. I decide to check my Facebook account. I usually
only check it weekly—I was just telling Sam as much the other
day—and I checked it on the plane. But I need to distract
myself.
It's a mistake.
I have a new message, and
though I've received a few of them from future classmates, I never
expected to see this name in my inbox.
Or maybe I did. Maybe it
was my worst fear, and the entire reason I was reluctant to make an
account again in the first place.
I don't even know how he
knew I had Facebook.
Robin hasn't changed his
Profile Picture in the year since we've been out of contact, and
it's his same smiling face, the same photo that incited my argument
with Sam the night he attacked me here during spring
break.
I stare at my inbox for
what feels like an hour before I decide to open the message. Not
opening it isn't going to make it disappear, and since it says he
sent it last night around ten thirty, it's already been sitting
there for hours.
I hold my breath, letting
my thumb linger over the top slot of my inbox before I close my
eyes and click it.
Rory,
I can't stand knowing
you're right here, in a hotel a few miles away, but I can't see
you. I can't stand watching you in court and not being able to talk
to you. I can't stand hearing him talk about you being together. I
won't stand for it. You are mine and I will never let you
go.
Oh, God.
I gasp in a wheezing
breath when I realize I haven't breathed since I clicked the
message, but it feels like it won't reach my lungs. My pulse
accelerates, and my breath races it.
Oh, God!
How could I have thought I
was safe? What was I thinking?!
I'm instantly covered in
sweat, my tank top sticking to my back, and then all too quickly
black spots dot my vision, my head dizzy, the world spinning around
me until my legs are overcome with pins and needles. I feel the
rail of the balcony behind me and let it guide me to the
floor.
I can't get my bearings. A
steel band tightens around my rib cage, closing in on my lungs, and
I just can't enough air. I'm going to pass out. I know
it.
I try with everything I
have to gasp in another breath. The loud, dramatic wheeze sounds as
if it's coming from someone else, somewhere else. I try and try to
fucking breathe but I can't stop thinking that he's going to come
for me. I know it.
I will never let you
go.
He's said it before. But
now he's here, in the same city, and he could be anywhere. He could
be somewhere in the hotel, just lying in wait.
He's going to kill me.
He's going to kill Sam, I know it!
"Ror?" I can barely see
him with my vision compromised. "Oh, fuck, Ror!"
He's at my side, I know
because I can feel his hands brushing the sweat soaked hair from my
forehead, rubbing at my arm like it could be enough to comfort me
right now.
I whimper.
I can't form words, can't
warn him, when it's all I want to do. Terror overtakes
everything.
He's coming! You've got to
get away, Sam!
He needs to leave, to be
far away from me when he finally comes for me!
If only I could
communicate, if I could show him my phone, but I dropped it. Where
exactly, when exactly, I don't know. I don't know!
Then he's slipping
something in my mouth—a pill,
I realize—and holding a water bottle to my
lips.
I try to sip, try to
swallow, but I can't even intake air.
Baby, baby,
baby.
He's been speaking this
whole time, I realize, but I've barely heard him.
Swallow for me, please
baby.
He's begging.
Pleading.
I want to beg and plead
too. Get out of here!
I'm sorry, baby. Please,
baby! I'm sorry!
I can't even make out
which are my thoughts and which are his words.
I focus all of my energy,
all of my concentration, and I do it—I swallow the pill, bitter and
chalky having spent too much time soaking in the water sitting in
my mouth.
Encouragements.
That's it, baby girl. Thank you. Thank you, baby.
I'm so sorry, baby.
It feels as if it gets
stuck in my chest, further cutting off my windpipe, and somehow
also as if it's grown, like there's a golf ball there instead of a
little bar-shaped pill.
Just breathe for me now,
okay?
Loud breaths. Like he's
coaching me. Like a childbirth class I saw in a movie
once.
In and out, in and
out.
I listen to his long, deep
breaths. They are calming. I try to mimic them.
My breaths come in double
time to his.
But they come.
Finally.
I breathe.
I breathe, and breathe,
and breathe. Hours pass. Or minutes.
My vision is still
black.
No, my eyes are just
closed. I blink them open.
My vision is blurry, but I
can see.
I'm not sitting on the
ground. But Sam is. I've been pulled into his lap, my head cradled
against his chest, his arms holding me, stroking my hair, breathing
with me. Breathing for me.
"Sam." I breathe his name, a prayer
on my lips.
Slowly I feel it—the magic
of the pill. I sit there, letting him hold me, waiting, breathing.
My vision clears, and I see my phone in his hand. He saw the
message. Did he have time to read it? How much time has even
actually passed?
"Fuck, baby, you scared
the shit out of me," he whispers.
"I'm… okay." I'm not. I'm
not panicking anymore, thanks to Sam and my medication, but I'm in
danger. We both are.
"I'm sorry. So sorry," he
murmurs, like he's still recovering from my panic
attack.
But he has no reason to be
sorry. I force another deep breath before I ask. "Why?"
Sam seems to startle. Like
maybe he's coming back to the world with me. But he doesn't answer.
Instead, he presses his forehead to mine, and I breathe in his
breath like it's my lifeline.
"Everything is okay. Do
you hear me? Don't pay it any fucking attention, baby girl. He
can't touch you. He won't touch you."
He's so adamant, but the
passion behind his words doesn't make them true. He can't control
Robin. I'm not sure anyone can.
"He's not going to let me
go, Sam. He's going to hurt me. He's going to hurt
you." I whimper again at
the thought, like a pitiful frightened puppy.
"No, baby girl. I swear to
fucking God—you're safe. We're safe." He takes a deep breath and
wipes the tears, or sweat, or both, from my cheeks. He stares
intently into my eyes. "You saw the photos yesterday, yeah? Of what
happened the last time he tried to hurt us?"
I saw them, yes. And I
know Sam won that fight, that he's stronger. But Robin is crazy.
Who knows what he
might do?
"But—"
"I know you're upset, Ror,
and I'm sorry. But baby, I need you to trust me. I am going to keep
you safe. I promise you nothing will come of that message, okay?
We'll report it to the prosecutor, and they'll revoke his bail.
He's not allowed to contact you, remember? This whole hearing just
became moot. He just violated the restraining order
anyway."
My mouth drops open as I
process his words.
Is he right?
Robin's not supposed to
contact me. This is contact. This is a violation of the Injunction
for Protection. Even if the judge believes he didn't know I'd be in
Miami, that he didn't knowingly seek me out, this is undeniable.
I can't find words. I just
stare at Sam, gaping.
He nods at me as if
confirming what I'm finally starting to grasp.
"Sam." It's the only word I can
form.
He brushes my hair from my
face before his lips press hard against mine. He does it again, and
again, in chaste, closed-mouthed, hard kisses.
Finally he lifts me up and
carries me from the balcony.
"I can walk," I tell
him.
"I know," he replies, but
he doesn't put me down.
He tries calling my mom
because I know I can't bring myself to say the words that Robin
wrote, but he tells me it went straight to voicemail.
Well, we'll be at court in
a couple of hours either way.
Sam orders room service
and a in-room movie that I pay no attention. Sam keeps watching me,
like he's checking to make sure I'm not going to panic again, and
though I know I've earned his concern, what I don't understand is
the hint of guilt that colors his features.